


Winter Boredom at Baker Street

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Bondage, Bored Sherlock, Bottom Sherlock, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Gunplay, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 00:09:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is bored. John decides to use his gun to make him unbored. Smut ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Boredom at Baker Street

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags. If you're not into gunplay, this is not for you.

“Bored,” muttered Sherlock, staring up at the ceiling. John grit his teeth. It had been far too long since a case. The weather outside was sleeting and cold, preventing him from taking a walk and making his knee ache a bit despite the roaring fire. Sherlock was laid out on the couch, fingers steepeled on his chest. The dressing gown was open, but at least he’d put on his pajama bottoms this time. “John,” he whined. “Bored.”

That was it. John got up from his computer and headed up to his room. He had an idea that Sherlock probably wasn’t expecting from him, but truth be told, it was something he’d half-wanted to try for a while. Sherlock was just as adventurous in the bedroom as he was in the rest of his life, but this wasn’t something they’d done before.

Taking his gun out of the drawer, John quickly emptied the clip and checked to make sure the chamber was empty. Then checked again after sliding the clip home. Breath coming shorter now, he peeled off his jumper, leaving himself in a white tshirt and jeans. He gave himself a short nod as he put the gun in the back of his waistband and went back downstairs.

Sherlock hadn’t moved, but John knew his eyes were watching him. He crossed the sitting room and climbed on top of Sherlock, straddling his waist. A faint smile crossed Sherlock’s face and his hands dropped to his sides. “John?”

Before he could change his mind, John pulled the gun from behind him and placed the barrel against the underside of Sherlock’s chin. Sherlock’s eyes dialted and his breath nearly stopped. John figured Sherlock would know right away it was empty, but he’d seen the way Sherlock watched him when he handled his gun. And wouldn’t that be a helluva pun.

“You said you’re bored, Sherlock?” John’s hands were steady as his voice. Sherlock merely watched. “Maybe you’d like to suck my gun?”

There was another hitch of breath. _Kinky bastard_.  John dragged the weapon along Sherlock’s  neck to his ear, then back down his jaw. The other man’s mouth opened automatically and now it was John’s breath that was hitching as he watched Sherlock wrap those beautiful lips around the barrel. As he slid the barrel in and out of Sherlock’ s mouth, John’s erection was already straining at the denim of his jeans.

Then Sherlock _moaned_. John thought it was perhaps the most decadent sound he’d ever heard. The evidence of just how much Sherlock was enjoying this was pressed against John’s thigh, barely restrained by the material of his bottoms. John shifted and raised himself, not giving Sherlock the satisfaction of rubbing against him. The change in angle made him tilt Sherlock’s head back, and the other man’s eyes closed as he sucked harder. John could only imagine what he was doing with his tongue.

John kept the gun sliding in and out at a steady pace, but leaned down to bite at Sherlock’s neck. He moaned again and his hands came up. John grabbed both his slender wrists with his free hand and pinned them to the couch above his head. “No touching until I say,” he ordered.

Sherlock’s eyes opened again and John had to bite his lip to keep from moaning as he saw the white heat in his lover’s eyes. He pressed the gun a little deeper, careful not to damage the back of Sherlock’s throat.  The finger lying next to the trigger was barely touching Sherlock’s lips now, and Sherlock darted his tongue out to just lick the tip.

John shuddered and carefully pulled the gun out. It left Sherlock’s lips with an audible pop. John’s body was demanding friction too and he shifted himself as he dragged the gun down that beautiful neck until the spit-slick barrel was pressing against the clavicle. Keeping the wrists pinned, John leaned down and claimed those swollen lips, never letting up pressure from the gun.

The couch creaked as Sherlock’s hips jerked up. Breaking the kiss, John shook his head. “Am I going to have to tie you up?”

Sherlock’s eyes went wider, if that were possible. He swallowed slowly. “Perhaps…that might be best.” 

Part of John could hardly believe he was doing this. But hell, in for a penny, in for a pound.  Lifting the gun from Sherlock’s chest he set it on the coffee table, still keeping his other hand on Sherlock’s wrists. In one swift movement he had Sherlock flipped onto his stomach and quickly used the dressing gown to tie up Sherlock’s wrists. John could feel him trembling slightly underneath him and gently ran his hands down his back to soothe him. If Sherlock needed to use the safe word he would, though honestly, John figured he’d stop before they got that far. The man never did like backing down from a challenge.

He pushed Sherlock up over the arm of the couch so he was off balance and unable to get purchase, then pulled off the pajama bottoms. Sherlock moaned again and tried to shift to get some friction against his throbbing cock. John picked up the gun and placed it against the small of Sherlock’s back. “Don’t move.”

Sherlock’s breath hitched, but he stilled himself.  John dragged the gun up along his spine, watching the cold metal catch slightly on the porcelain skin. Sherlock’s head dropped forward as he neared his neck. John grabbed a handful of hair and pulled his head back, placing the barrel of the gun just below his ear. John shifted forward and pressed his denim clad erection against Sherlock’s ass. He ground slowly, testing his own patience. Sherlock _whimpered_. John started wishing he’d tried this ages ago.

The gun shifted slightly. “I’m going to fuck you with my pistol, Sherlock,” John promised, breath hot in the other man’s ear, holding his hair a little tighter. “I’m going to fuck you with it and then you’re going to suck me off.”

“Please,” Sherlock begged.

John bit his lip and backed off, letting go of Sherlock’s hair to rub the heel of his hand against the front of his jeans, seeking just a bit of relief. He switched the gun to his other hand and dug the lube out of the couch cushions. Sherlock spread his legs a little wider as he heard the cap pop off the bottle.

“Eager,” muttered John. He liberally coated his fingers and ran his hand down the crack of Sherlock’s ass. Taking the gun away, he tucked it back into his waistband so he could spread Sherlock’s cheeks.

“I want to feel the gun, John,” said Sherlock, voice breathy.

John leaned forward and bit Sherlock’s shoulder blade as he pushed a finger inside. Sherlock cried out and rocked back against his hand. Grabbing the gun out of his waistband again, John dragged it along the outside of his lover’s thigh.

Sherlock was panting now and John soon added a second finger. He traced Sherlock’s hip with the barrel, then, taking a breath and craning his head to watch, brought it up along Sherlock’s erection. He jerked and cried out, trying to straighten, but unable to move from the angle John had set him at.

“Is it too much?” John started to pull the gun away.

“No, no, please,” whimpered Sherlock, trying to follow the gun with his hips. John added a third finger and pressed the cold metal against Sherlock again, making him whimper his pleasure as he thrust slightly against the barrel. John was careful not to put too much pressure on his cock; he didn’t trust Sherlock to not hurt himself in an effort to find release.

“Almost there,” he said soothingly as he looked back at his fingers, still teasing and spreading his lover. He withdrew his hand, making Sherlock whimper again, and applied more lube. Then he took the gun away and adminstered lube to the barrel. This would need a very thorough cleaning when all of this was done.  Sherlock tried to cant his hips and John rather wished he could see his face.

Instead, John took another breath, rubbed the heel of his hand against his own erection for a moment, then started penetrating Sherlock with the firearm. Sherlock gasped, but John was patient and being very careful with the sight. The last thing he needed was to tear the other man. It was almost beautiful, in a way, watching the barrel slowly, carefully, being taken inside.

“You’re beautiful, Sherlock,” said John reverently. He turned the gun a bit and Sherlock moaned, shaking again. John rubbed his hip. “You are doing so well. I want you to cum for me, just like this.”

There was another moan and he shifted the gun a little more, aiming for the prostate. Sherlock came suddenly, almost silently; barely more than one more soft whimper as he shot against the arm of the couch. John realized he’d stopped breathing and took a deep breath before just as carefully removing the pistol.

“Good, good,” he muttered, dropping the gun onto the coffee table. He moved and turned Sherlock over, rubbing his sides. Now he finally saw Sherlock’s face and felt his heart swell with what he saw there. Sherlock’s eyes were bright but threatening tears. His lips were still red and swollen, the bottom one heavily bitten and still bearing marks from his teeth. John leaned in and kissed him tenderly as he brought Sherlock’s arms down, freeing him from the dressing gown and rubbing feeling back into his lover’s arms.

“You okay?” John asked, breaking the kiss and sitting back. He still had his own throbbing erection, but if he had to, he could take care of that himself.

“Oh _John_ ,” breathed Sherlock, blinking as if coming back to himself. He leaned across the couch and planted a hot kiss on John’s lips, his hands fumbling with the zip of his jeans.

Before John could help, Sherlock got the zip down and pulled the jeans and pants down over his hips and swallowed him whole. John shouted and thrust hard into his mouth. Gasping, he fumbled for something to hold on to, one hand landing in Sherlock’s hair, the other gripping the back of the couch. Sherlock curled his tongue around John and sucked just a little more. He came hard, cursing as he filled the other man’s mouth. Sherlock swallowed every drop, then sat up and gave John a crooked smile.

John panted and shook his head. “That should do you for a while,” he smiled back. “I’m going to go clean my gun. And no, I don’t need your help.” He pulled his pants and jeans back up, wondering what he would do next time Sherlock got that bored.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
